Archer’s phone buzzes along the hall, bleating from our bedroom. I know it’ll soon wake him. But whatever it’s about, it’s none of my business. It’s Sunday, and I’m not interested in working for the next twenty-four hours. So I lower to the coffee table and begin unwrapping Micah’s hand while he sleeps.
“Turn the light on.” I glance up at Cato. “Please.”
And while he does that, Archer’s call stops trilling, followed a moment later by a mumbled, “Detective Malone speaking.”
Exhaling a sigh, I keep my hands gentle and my movements calm so I don’t hurt Micah.
He’s the quieter brother of the bunch. The less… showy. He’d rather think than talk. Consider, instead of aim a shotgun at a hundred-thousand-dollar chandelier and demand to get his wayor else.
While Archer’s grumbled tone carries along the hall, I expose Micah’s hand and firm my lips in sympathy when he groans in his sleep.
His pain meds are wearing off, and he’s suffering more injuries than most will ever have in their lifetime.
But he gets to feel them all in the same week.
“What do you need?” More serious now, Cato holds my eyes and waits. “How can I help?”
“Glass of water, and a couple of those pills from the orange bottle.” Then I look toward my medbag by the kitchen counter. “And my bag, please. He needs more antibiotics to make sure infection doesn’t kill him.”
“Admit it.” He follows my instructions and fills a glass with water before grabbing the rest. “He doesn’t need the needle in his ass. You’re just trying to get a good look, perusing your options now that there are more of us to choose from.”
“You got me.” I purse my lips and glance down to hide the way I roll my eyes. He’s Archer in so many ways. But hell, he’s Felix, too.
And then I wonder…how much of Archer is Felix?Where do the contrasts end?Because if we’re comparing, Archer and Cato have spent the same amount of time inside the Malone familyestate,being raised by older siblings.
“I was engaged to Tim for a while,” I tell him dryly. To fuck with him. “And I’ve already been to bed with Felix. Just as soon as Micah’s on his feet, I intend toperusewhat he’s offering.”
“And me?” Cato stops by the couch and looks down to meet my eyes. “When do I get a turn?”
“When you’re no longer achild.” I snatch the bag from his hands and bite my tongue when his expression drops into a pout.
I swear, he actually thought I would suck his dick and sample what he’s offering.
“I’ve gotta go out.” Archer shuffles into the living room, half asleep and with his jeans not yet buttoned. His zipper is up, but his abdomen stands out under the harsh morning light.
His chest beckons me to rest over his heart, and his lethargic movements tempt me to turn him around and take us back to bed to sleep a few hours longer.
If I wondered, even for a second, if a different Malone could be fun to try, just looking at Archer cements what I already know.
I’ve found the one I want. My rockhopper penguin. My forever.
Banging a different Malone wouldn’t feel nearly the same.
“Who’s dead?” I ask as he stands in the middle of the kitchen and struggles into a shirt.
Once his head is free of the material and his eyes open again, he looks around, dazed, only to stop on the coffee cup I’ve yet to drink from.
“That’s Cato’s,” I warn before he takes a sip. “And Cato has the clap, so I suggest you don’t share body fluids.”
Stopping. Scowling. Archer looks toward his little brother and frowns. Then he turns to the cupboard and takes out a fresh cup.
Two, so my heart swells and thuds.
“She’s not dead.” He sets the first mug under the machine’s spout and slaps the button to get it going. “But Whitney Patterson woke to a disturbance this morning and called it in. She’s ours, since Jason is ours.”
“You think his killer was circling back to take out the wife?”
He drops his elbows to the counter so his spine arches, then he sets his chin on his hands and watches the coffee machine work. “Dunno. Dispatch didn’t say anything about what we’re walking into, so I guess we’ll see once we arrive on scene.”
